optional soundtrack: “Dead of Winter” by Katie Pederson
warning: potentially sensitive content
“It’s not that big of a deal, Dev. Just call him. Come on, you can do it!” Cassandra said.
“I don't know…” Devika said, staring at the carpet.
“Do it!” Cassandra nudged her cousin’s shoulder.
“Okay, okay,” Devika shakily picked up her phone and dialed the number. Her cousin stood behind her, grinning out of both excitement and schadenfreude. The few seconds of ringing seemed to last an eternity, but once it stopped, the silence almost made Devika drop the phone.
“Hey th-”
“Hi Mason, it's Dev--I mean, Devika--uh, Dev, but um, remember last year when we were going to go to prom but you got the flu and it was really, really bad and then your parents had to take you to the emergency room? Well they're having a winter formal in two weeks at Pollard and I was wondering if you wanted to go, because you never got to go to prom, but you're in college now so I totally understand if you don't want to go? So yeah, I was just calling to ask--”
“Yeah, that sounds like fun,” he said.
“Wait, what? Ahh, yes! Thank you, thank you, thank you! See you then!” Dev said, then slammed down the receiver before Mason could even think to respond.
She collapsed into a heap against her bed and said, “Well, that was terrifying. I feel like jumping around and puking at the same time.”
“Eh, you’ll live. Let’s go order pizza! Our show starts in an hour.”
--- --- ---
Jyoti caught herself watching her daughter’s show while she baked in the kitchen. She wasn’t even all that interested in science fiction or the ice age, but it was well written and the actors were great. Whenever her niece or daughter turned around out of curiosity, she pretended to be deeply engrossed in the endless pile of egg cartons and tubs of butter on the counter. It worked, for the most part. Jyoti considered herself good at pretending.
With no warning, her husband thundered into the kitchen and grabbed a beer from the fridge. He glanced around for a second and muttered something.
“I’m sorry, Oliver, but I could not hear you,” Jyoti said, with all of the politeness she could muster. He sighed heavily and she braced herself.
“What the hell’s with all the pies? Clean this shit up,” he said, louder this time. It came out like a hiss. His voice was low and strained, pushing her further away from him than she already felt.
“These pies are for Ravi’s school fundraiser. I’m almost finished,” she said with a quiet sigh, blinking back tears. He mumbled something unintelligible then left the room. Jyoti wanted to raise her voice as he stomped back upstairs, to tell him that he was disturbing their daughter’s show or their son’s nap.
An explosion rattled through the television speakers, and Devika and Cassandra both started pointing at the TV and yelling. Jyoti heard jumbled, frantic cries of “I have to blog this!” and “holy crap!” Any other time, her eyes would have been glued to that screen, but she didn’t feel like watching the show anymore.
She hurriedly stacked the pies on cooling racks. Fighting the tears was a battle long lost; she just hoped that the girls didn’t turn around to look at her. Despite her best efforts to be quiet, Jyoti started breathing too fast and accidentally made a weird squeaking noise. She quickly excused herself to the garage before she could see either of the girls’ concerned stares.
Jyoti flopped into the driver’s seat of her SUV, slammed the door, and began to cry, weird squeaking noises and all. She rummaged through the stuff in the passenger seat and found her purse, taking out a small packet of tissues and blowing her nose. Here she was, a little past fifty years old, at the top of her career, living with her two beautiful, happy children, enjoying great health, with more money than she ever dreamed of. Yet she was miserable, and she felt pathetic for it. Was this it? Had she finally become the perfect American wife she had always dreamed of being?
It was always Oliver. From the minute she saw him as a freshman in college, it was him. His sharp green eyes and quiet laugh, the way his eyebrows furrowed when he concentrated. Despite his subdued mannerisms, everything about him was big: frame, presence, voice. He was impossible to avoid, inside Jyoti’s mind and in person.
She backed out of the garage and decided to make her way to the grocery store.
In college, Oliver lived on the floor above her’s. The dorm was three floors, with perpetually broken elevators, and everyone used the stairs. Jyoti still vividly remembered his girlfriend at the time, her shaggy brown hair and big smile, her steady steps as she climbed the stairs to the third floor. His ex-girlfriend was almost a perfect match for him. She was big, too, in ideas and decisions. Her presence could be felt from across the room. Every time she saw her go by, Jyoti swore a part of her died a little.
“We’ve been together since ninth grade,” she remembers him saying once, when they met in the library for a physics project. “Our parents didn’t approve, but we stuck it through.”
They stuck it through, all the way until the middle of their junior year in college. Oliver wanted to settle down and get married, but his girlfriend had enough of academia and the trivialities society offered--she wanted to see the world. Their breakup was explosive, painful even for the witnesses. In his darkest hour, Oliver turned to Jyoti for comfort. The rest was convoluted history.
It was seven years before Oliver ever saw Jyoti in the same light, but she endured and waited patiently. She had put all her hopes in him--there was no going back. It was seven more years of dating before they got married. Those fourteen years...had they been worth it? Was a shell of a man her prize for making it to thirty-three?
When she got home, it was half-past eleven. Upstairs in their bedroom, Jyoti walked in to Oliver laying half-asleep on the couch, watching football, surrounded by empty beer cans.
“Oliver, I’m home,” she said softly, trying her best to ignore the blaring advertisement for snowboots. She dug her fingernails into her sweater.
She came back ten minutes later, ready for bed.
“Oliver, if you want to talk about anything, I’m right here,” Jyoti said, her voice choked. Tears began to well in her dry, sore eyes for the umpteenth time.
“Leave me alone,” he muttered. It stung like acid.
“I promise to lis-”
“I said leave me alone, you bitch!” he yelled. Jyoti jumped back, felt her heart pound in her chest. When he threw an empty beer can against the wall, knocking down one of Ravi's baby pictures, she decided it was best to sleep in the guest bedroom tonight.
“What happened?” Ravi said, standing in the doorway to his bedroom, a subdued look of surprise and annoyance on his face.
“Everything is fine, Ravi. Go back to sleep.”
Devika came out of her room, shaking, with wide eyes and a gaping mouth.
“Is dad angry again? Why is he yelling? Is it my fault? Oh, I wish he’d stop,” she said frantically. Jyoti pulled her daughter into a stiff hug.
“Your father is fine. Everything is okay, dear.”
“I promise you.”
“Everything is okay.”
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notesHi! I'm still here, and still writing! School has been insane these last few months, but I'm almost done, and from there will be a lot more updates! I'm aiming to get the next update out around mid-to-late May. After that, it should start becoming more of a weekly thing.
Ahh, Jyoti and Oliver, one of the more interesting couples of Reyerstown. I'm not going to reveal everything about their story just quite yet, but if you picked up on anything from this chapter, it's one heck of a story.
As always, you're welcome to leave comments below! I love reading comments! Feel free to give me any constructive criticism. I'm trying very hard to improve my writing.
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